


23 Years, 4 Months, 2 Weeks, 6 Days

by xpityx



Series: 23 Years Verse [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:23:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship, in parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	23 Years, 4 Months, 2 Weeks, 6 Days

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I couldn't find anyone to beta this, so if you see a mistake please let me know.~~ Beta'd by the lovely [AmyH](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/491141/) \- thank you! Any remaining mistakes are my own damn fault.

Four months, three weeks

 

He hears them coming and stands. McGee looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, close to where the chain that holds the manacle around his left foot meets the wall.

 

Gibbs walks towards the front of their cell, stopping two feet away from the heavy door at the furthest reach of his own chain. They come from around the left hand corner, down stairs he guesses, although he has no memory of how he got here, an Asian man and a White woman, holding a barely-conscious Tony between them. Gibbs makes himself hold still, and waits until after they've non-too-gently deposited Tony on the floor and their footsteps have faded before speaking.

 

He crouches down to where Tony is curled up, facing towards the now bolted door.

 

“DiNozzo!”

 

He knows he sounds angry, but it's actually fear and he can't seem to get a handle on it.

 

“Tony!”

 

Tony stirs at the sound of his given name.

 

“Jethro?” He sounds a little slurred.

 

“Yeah. I need you to come over here.”

 

Tony seems to take a second to gather himself before rolling over so he now faces away from the door: he has an arm wrapped protectively around his ribs and his eyes are crusted shut. Gibbs can smell the sharp tang of pepper spray – not good for someone with Tony's lung problems.

 

“I can't see.”

 

“It'll wear off. I need to look at those ribs though.”

 

“Any excuse to get me shirtless, eh?”

 

Tony doesn't question why Gibbs is making him get up and walk when he's obviously hurt, he just staggers to his feet, one arm still around his ribs and one out in front of him. Gibbs gives McGee a warning look – Tony obviously doesn't know McGee's there and Gibbs wants Tony to accept help, something he knows he'll refuse if he realizes there's an audience. McGee looks a little surprised, probably at the shirt comment, and Gibbs would worry about the fallout from the rest of his team finding out about him and Tony but he's more concerned about his boy right now.

 

Tony staggers far enough for his outstretched hand to make contact with Gibbs's shoulder, and he instantly winds his arm round to grab a fistful of the back of Gibbs's USMC sweatshirt, bringing his head down to the curve of his shoulder. Gibbs responds by wrapping a hand around the back of Tony's neck, just where the downy hairs meet skin, and presses a kiss to the side of his head.

 

“I've got you,” he says quietly into the skin behind Tony's ear.

 

He hopes McGee didn't catch that – he can practically hear his eyes falling out his head already.

 

He begins to walk Tony towards a low bench a couple of feet behind him. Usually it's Tony going backwards, and under very different circumstances – they had broken a fair amount of furniture during the first month of their relationship. Still, he gets him down onto the bench without any mishaps.  
  
 

“Lorna's people?” Tony rasps.

 

“That makes the most sense.”

 

This is why Gibbs hates drug cases – there's always someone who mistakenly thinks kidnapping NCIS agents will make all their problems go away.

 

“I told them about the warehouse.” Where Ziva and a truckload of FBI agents were waiting for the deal to go down. Good boy.

 

Gibbs grunts, sure there aren't any bugs but cautious all the same, and quickly strips out of his sweatshirt and the soft t-shirt he'd been wearing underneath before putting the sweatshirt back on.

 

“I thought I was going to be the one getting naked?”

 

“Later.”

 

He imagines McGee's eyebrows have climbed up into his hairline by this point. He'd be worried about Tony's observational skills, but he undoubtedly can't hear the other occupant of the room over his own laboured breathing, and he'd assume that there was no way Gibbs would display such affection if they had an observer.

 

Well, you know what they say about assumptions.

 

He spits on one corner of his shirt and begins wiping away the dried tears and mucus preventing Tony from opening his eyes.

 

Once he has most of the muck off, Tony slits his eyes open for a first look at their low-ceilinged cell. You wouldn't able to see it from across the room, but Gibbs feels Tony tense.

 

He hears a rustle of cloth from behind him. If he were a betting man he'd say that McGee just waved.

 

“Hey McGee.”

 

“Hey Tony, you look like shit.”

 

There's a pause.

 

“So, those Dolphins eh?” Tony says with false cheer, “third game in a row.”

 

“Yeah,” McGee deadpans, “very unexpected.”

 

Tony winces.

 

Gibbs turns to glare at McGee and then begins ripping his t-shirt into long strips, effectively cutting off any further attempts at conversation.

 

“Hold your shirt up.”

 

Tony turns his head to look at him from where he's been resolutely staring into space, looking like a deer in the headlights.

 

Gibbs lowers his voice, the illusion of privacy being the only thing he can offer right now, and makes sure to look Tony in the eye.

 

“I need you to lift your shirt up so I can bind your ribs.”

 

Tony nods, “Yeah Boss.”

 

Boss... a sure sign that Tony has retreated to 'Special Agent DiNozzo' in his own head.

 

Gibbs isn't sure what he can do about it right now, so he treats the thing he can – he wraps the strips of worn cotton around Tony's ribs – snug but not too tight, making sure to make as much skin contact as possible as he does it. Verbal reassurance isn't a thing they do, but this, this they've gotten good at.

 

He finishes, turns and sits back, wrapping an arm around Tony until Tony has no choice but to rest his head on Gibbs's shoulder.

 

He looks across at McGee, a challenge in his eyes. He trusts that McGee will be OK with this – they were always going to find out at some point, but he wants to make sure he understands that it's a done deal.

 

McGee catches his eye and nods tiredly at him, offering a hesitant half-smile.

 

Gibbs grunts. That'll do.

 

They wait for Ziva, who when she arrives with keys looks a little put out that they have not only managed to get kidnapped, but have procured Tony a couple of cracked ribs in the process.

 

“Did you get them?” He asks her as they stagger up the steps – Tony having refused a stretcher.

 

“Yes, we got them. Lorna Asokan was shot but she is in a stable condition.”

 

Gibbs nods. His team did well.

 

“I did good, huh? Do I get a treat?” Tony must be feeling better already.

 

“I thought I'd take you for a nice long ride.”

 

“Jesus,” McGee pipes up from behind them, “Can I be kidnapped again?”

 

Two months, four days

 

It's Sunday. Tony has been here since early Saturday morning after falling into bed at 2am. He has just started running out of clothes: he's currently wearing his own sweatpants but one of Gibbs's sweatshirts, and he's rubbing down a part of the hull that Gibbs is pretty sure he can't mess up. All in all it looks pretty innocent, but he still tenses when he hears the front door open and Ducky call out.

 

“Jethro?”

 

Tony looks up with something like fear in his eyes.

 

“Down here, Ducky!” Gibbs calls back up.

 

He figures there's nothing for it now, so he just keeps sanding, hoping his lack of concern will relax Tony.

 

“Ah Jethro,” Ducky continues as he makes his way into the basement, “I was worried – I left you a message on Saturday evening and although of course it was in no way urgent I hadn't heard back so I just thought I'd come over and make sure you... Ah. Tony”

 

“Hey Ducky”

 

“Yeah, must have missed the message, Ducky.”

 

There's a brief, awkward silence while Ducky studies Tony and Gibbs continues to sand.

 

“Let me get you a cup of tea, Ducky” Tony offers, and is up and out of the basement faster than Gibbs has seen him move all week.

 

“Sorry for worrying you, Ducky, I just...”

 

“What are you doing?” Ducky interrupts him, sharply.

 

Gibbs sighs. This is not a conversation he wants to have, especially with Tony undoubtedly listening in from upstairs.

 

“I'm pretty certain that's none of your business, Duck”

 

“None of my...! You're his superior officer, you both would lose your jobs over this if it ever got out.”

 

“Me, Ducky. Not him. _I_ would loose my job, not Tony.”

 

“Gibbs are you sure about this? I know that you're well aware how Anthony feels about you.”

 

He can feel his hold on his temper slipping. Gibbs tries to tell himself that it's not Ducky's fault that he plays his cards so close to his chest and that, as his friend, he understands why he's worried, but of course that's not really what comes out.

 

“As sure as I've ever been about anything.” He says, steadily.

 

Ducky sighs, “I know you're both adults and this is not really any of my business, Jethro, but I worry...”

 

“You're right, it's not. This conversation is over, I believe you know your way out.”

 

Gibbs goes back to sanding, willing Ducky to leave so he can make sure Tony is alright. His boy gets some odd ideas in his head, sometimes. One day he's going to find Tony's fraternity 'brothers' and they're going to have words. He's well aware that he'll need to apologise to Ducky later, but for the moment he has other priorities.

 

Ducky knows when is and isn't the time to push him so he makes his way back the way he came, shutting the front door quietly behind him.

 

Gibbs allows himself a moment to collect himself, then he goes to find Tony.

 

He's in the kitchen, and he seems to be actually making tea. Well, he's standing with his back to the room and is stirring something repeatedly, in any case.

 

“Tony?” He tries.

 

“Yeah Boss?”

 

Gibbs winces.

 

“Shit, Rule 71. Sorry. And hey! Rule 6 as well. I'm just on a roll this evening...”

 

“Tony.”

 

He finally seems to really register Gibbs's presence and turns around, leaning back against the counter.

 

“So that's the cat well and truly out the bag, eh? I guess that throws a spanner in the works. Hey, do you think there's a limit to the number of idioms you can use...”

 

On the benefit side of being in a relationship with Tony, Gibbs has quickly learned the best way to shut him up is to kiss him, so he does exactly that.

 

Tony's still slouched against the counter, so they're of a height for once, allowing Gibbs to look Tony directly in the eye.

 

“Everything's fine.”

 

Tony still looks unsure, so Gibbs kisses him again, and again. This is the reason he has to keep himself under such iron control at work: the knowledge that once he has started, and as long as Tony is on board with it, he has no real power to stop.

 

He deepens the kiss, moving his hands from Tony's face to underneath his sweatshirt, his hands tighten involuntarily at the thought of someone trying to take this away from him, from them. As he kisses down his neck, he says “stay” into warm skin.

 

He's not sure if he means tonight or forever.

 

Tony, head tipped back to allow access and eyes closed, swallows hard and says yes.

 

Minus one day

 

DiNozzo is having a nightmare. Gibbs can hear him even through the thick wall between his room and the guest room.

 

A Petty Officer had gotten involved with selling information. He'd just been some kid, wet behind the ears and easily led. DiNozzo had felt sorry for him, hell, they all had, and the case had come to a crescendo with the kid holding a gun to his head on the dock behind his house, while DiNozzo desperately tried to talk him down. Gibbs had been further back, with his gun on the kid just in case he changed his mind about who he wanted to shoot. He hadn't heard exactly what DiNozzo was saying, he was too far away and listening out for their backup, but the kid suddenly just lost it and shot himself. Only, like many people, he'd gotten the angle wrong and had only succeeded in shooting off all of his jaw and most of his face. He went backwards into the water, and DiNozzo went in after him. By the time Gibbs got to the end of the pier, DiNozzo had the kid by the back of the clothes and was trying to keep him afloat. He'd saved his life, but the whole thing stank and nobody had felt like they'd won in the end.

 

Gibbs had taken one look at his soaking wet, blood splattered senior agent and driven him back to his house, offered him use of the shower, fed him steak and whisky and sent him to bed.

 

But now there are nightmares.

 

Gibbs struggles with himself, as he often does when it comes to Tony: he wants to go in there and comfort him – does he want to do it as a friend? As his boss? Or so that he can, even for a brief moment, assure himself that Tony had come out of the water just fine and maybe prevent his own nightmares.

 

God, he's too old for this shit.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Tony comes awake gasping for breath. In his dream it had been Gibbs going backwards into the water, and Tony had gone in after him only to find empty clear blue sea in all directions.

 

Jesus, he's better than this – he had done his job and he'd done it well.  Nothing he could have said would have stopped Petty Officer James ‘Jimmy’ Dolan from shooting off half his face and effectively destroying his own life. He needs to get a hold of himself.

 

He can feel the thickness of tears at the back of his throat.

 

Fuck fuck fuck.

 

The door slides open without the benefit of a knock and Gibbs appears in the doorway, complete with sweats for pyjamas and an alarming case of bedhead.

 

“Come on, DiNozzo.”

 

He disappears back the way he came.

 

It would never have occurred to Tony to ignore the request, or even think of it as a request, so he takes a deep breath and follows Gibbs out of the door and into the master bedroom. Tony only stops dead when Gibbs gets into his bed and lays down with his back to him. What the hell?

 

“Get in, DiNozzo.”

 

Tony stands stock still. This is definitely a dream. When nothing else happens, he takes a hesitant step forwards towards the bed.

 

“Close the door, first.”

 

OK then. He goes back and closes the door before walks around to the other side of the bed. He gets in with his back to Gibbs and lays very still, wondering whether he's fallen into an alternative universe: one where people give a fuck about Anthony DiNozzo.

 

Gibbs answers the question by wrapping an arm around his middle and dragging him backwards so he's nestled against Gibbs's sweatshirt covered chest.

 

“You did good, Tony.” He says quietly.

 

It feels like something turns over in Tony's chest, and he fights against a sob. He breaths through his mouth until he can be still again.

 

God, he just wants to sleep and forget about this whole thing: put it into a box with Ari and Jeffrey White and his questionable feelings towards his boss.

 

He closes his eyes and thinks of the clear blue water – it's calming now he has Gibbs at his back, warm and alive.

 

Five months, one week, one day

 

He finds Gibbs in his spare room which is usually spotless, like the rest of his house, though actually he has yet to catch Gibbs on his hands and knees cleaning the bathroom. At the moment though it looks like the closet exploded: there are clothes on the bed and a massive tent on the floor complete with poles, stakes and a bright purple mallet. Huh. In the middle of the chaos is Gibbs, frowning at a coat that looks like it fell out of the 1950s.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Gibbs briefly looks up, “making room.”

 

Oh. Of course. “For...?”

 

“Your ridiculous clothes collection won't fit in the main bedroom.”

 

Tony stares at Gibbs, remembering what Ducky had said about actions and words.

 

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Jethro?” He asks, carefully.

 

Gibbs continues to stare at his coat as if it holds all the answers, but this is important, so Tony resists the urge to fill the silence and waits him out.

 

“The house goes to you anyway.”

 

Tony's eyebrows shoot up. He's certain there's no other meaning that sentence could have.

 

“After Mexico I changed my will, I guess I wanted you in my bed anyway I could, even if I wasn't here to appreciate it.”

 

Tony swallows. They've never said the words, and he knows how Gibbs feels about him, but when he does stuff like this, it just blindsides him every time.

 

Gibbs wouldn't appreciate him saying any of that though, so he clears his throat, takes a step forward and makes a show of surveying the available space before turning to him.

 

“We're gonna need a bigger boat.”

 

Day zero

 

Tony wakes again too hot but comfortable. He's sure he had bad dreams, sure Petty Officer Dolan has just been added to his nightmare hall of fame, but for the moment he doesn't feel too terrible.

 

Then he remembers: Gibbs.

 

This probably means that the muscular thigh he has his face buried next to belongs to his boss.

 

He opens one eye and looks up. Gibbs is sitting up in bed reading the paper, his bedhead even more ridiculous than it was last night.

 

“Er,” he coughs, “ morning.” Don't panic.

 

Gibbs looks down at him, and seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

 

“Go get the coffee on, Tony.”

 

“Yes Boss.”

 

“Rule 71.”

 

“What's Rule 71?” He didn't think they went up that high.

 

Gibbs goes back to his paper, “If you're snuggling someone's thigh, you use their name.”

 

That gets him up and out of bed.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

After Tony brings Gibbs his coffee and escapes into the shower, the day goes pretty smoothly. It's not so unusual for them to arrive at work together and Tony always has a spare suit at the office.

 

It's Friday, so the bull pen is pretty quiet, and the team are filling out seemingly endless paperwork. Ziva calls the hospital to check on Officer Dolan, and Gibbs is quietly grateful that DiNozzo won't have to do it.

 

He avoids Ducky, knowing the older man will realise that there's something amiss, and does his level best to not think about his senior agent in his bed last night.

 

Gibbs didn't know he was hoping for it, but DiNozzo waits until Gibbs gets up to leave, an hour after McGee and Ziva have called it a night, and then follows him down into the car park.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

Gibbs kisses Tony before he's even gotten two feet into the hallway, one hand on his arm that he'd used to turn him around and another on his face. It's just a brief press of lips, but in that moment Tony flashes back to boarding school, to being called queer and gay when he'd known too much about John Travolta or Sean Connery, or when he'd done extra credit for his favorite teacher, Mr Greves. He feels the shame of sucking off some nameless stranger in a parking lot – desperate for the feel of a cock in his mouth and a hand on the back of his head. He's not stupid, he knows the way he feels about Gibbs goes beyond how he should feel about a mentor, about a friend. But now he's just so scared that Gibbs _knows_ , that it's obvious to everyone who looks at him he's a limp-wristed queer who can never be a good cop cause he'll always be the guy who looks too long at his partner in the shower.

 

He's aware that he's breathing too fast, and that Gibbs has backed off.

 

“Tony?”

 

He reaches for Gibbs, wanting to be touched again, and hating that he wants it.

 

Gibbs pulls him into a hug, a hand round the back of his neck, stroking the short hairs just above his collar.

 

“We don't have to do this, Tony. You don't have to do anything.”

 

Gibbs sounds wrecked, Tony realises. He sounds guilty.

 

_Gibbs wants him_ , it's unbelievable, and hard on the heels of that thought, _Gibbs thinks Tony doesn't want this_.

 

Jesus, he's fucking this up.

 

He takes and deep breath, drops to his knees and starts on Gibbs's belt.

 

“Tony get up.” Deadly serious.

 

Tony presses his forehead into the top of Gibbs's leg.

 

“Please. I want this Gibbs. Please let me do this.”

 

There's an agonising pause before he feels Gibbs thread his hand through his hair.

 

Gibbs isn't hard yet, but Tony knows he can do something about that and soon he's rocking gently into Tony's mouth and breathing hard. Gibbs has one hand around the back of his head and one on his cheek, feeling himself every time he pushes in.

 

It's exactly what Tony wanted, and he has a hand down his pants, desperately fisting his own cock in time to Gibbs's tentative thrusts.

 

When Gibbs starts to loose coordination he knows he's close, Tony moans when Gibbs pulls out and almost collapses to the floor, pulling Tony half into his lap until he can get a hand round both their cocks. Their too far gone to kiss, just panting into each others space as Gibbs pulls Tony even closer.

 

“I've got you,” he says unsteadily into Tony's ear, “come for me now.”

 

Tony thinks he shouts as he comes, but he can't be sure.

 

Gibbs kisses him when he comes back to himself, deep and slow. He keeps his hands on Tony's face, thumbs rubbing small circles just under his cheekbones.

 

“OK?” He asks.

 

Tony nods unsteadily, “OK.” he says.

 

\- - - - - - -

 

They fall asleep on the sofa, empty take out cartons on the coffee table and some 1960s BBC thing Tony had picked playing quietly in the background.

 

Gibbs's hand is warm in it's place on the back of Tony's neck.

 

One week, six days

 

Tony's not even sure how they got onto the topic.

 

“Bisexuality is a thing that exists.” Gibbs is saying, mildly.

 

“Is that what you are then, Gibbs?” Tony tries to keep the challenge out of his voice, but thinks he hasn't quite managed it.

 

“Yup.”

 

“You've been married four times: to women” Tony says, flatly.

 

“Bi means you can be attracted to both, or all I guess, depending on how many genders you're counting.”

 

Tony stares. His heart is jack-rabbiting and his palms are sweating even talking about this, and Gibbs sounds like he has a rainbow flag flying.

 

“It was just easier to marry women and keep the men thing to myself for the sake of my job. Now,” Gibbs shrugs, “it doesn't seem to matter so much.”

 

“What changed?”

 

Gibbs does look up then, and waits until Tony meets his eyes before replying, “Some things are more important than work.”

 

Four days

 

“Gibbs?”

 

Gibbs is almost asleep, wrapped so close around Tony that his eyelashes brush against his neck as he opens his eyes.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What about Rule 12?” Tony asks, quietly.

 

“Overruled by Rule 5.”

 

“Me?” Tony says, after a pause.

 

Gibbs nods, knowing he can feel it, “yeah, and this.”

 

Tony stays quiet at that, and Gibbs lets him keep his silence.

 

One week, two days

 

Ducky knew, of course. They'd never actually had the conversation, but sometime between wife number 3 and wife number 4 Ducky had suggested he try marrying a man next time. Gibbs had just saluted him with his whisky and drank to it.

 

Should've taken his advice, as it turns out.

 

He doesn't pretend to be well informed on the subject, living under military rules most of his life has not lead to much exposure to anyone who didn't fit into accepted sexual and gender norms, but he's not ashamed of his sexuality, certainly not in the desperate way that Tony seems to be. Tony'd seemed fine after the first time they'd made love, but Gibbs knew that he'd let himself cry silently for a few, long minutes after he'd thought Gibbs had fallen asleep. He knows he needs to do or say something, but he's damned if he even knows how to bring up the subject.

 

A couple of years ago he'd gotten an email from a spotter he'd known when he was a Marine, who'd since become a First Sergeant. She'd sent out a group email to everyone she'd served with explaining how she'd transitioned and that her name was now Jade. It took him a week, thinking about it off and on in his head, and having to correct himself with the right pronouns every time he thought about his former buddy, to realize that he hadn't responded yet because he was afraid. He was afraid of this unknown situation, about what it said about him that he hadn't realized – he hadn't even known there was someone in his platoon who was struggling with something so major. He feared what it said about him that he didn't know what to say, that part of him was embarrassed on her behalf because she'd admitted something so personal. He was afraid of how brave she was.

 

> First Sergeant Jade Jones,
> 
>  
> 
> I am honoured to have served with you ma'am, and I will continue to speak of you highly to all who ask. I admire you for your bravery both then and now.
> 
>  
> 
> My best wishes to yourself and your family.
> 
>  
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Special Agent L. J. Gibbs.

 

After that, he'd headslapped anyone of his team who used a transphobic slur. It wasn't much, but he'd hoped it was enough.

 

He'll talk to Tony, he doesn't know what he'll say, but he's done being afraid.

 

Two years, two months, one week, five days

 

“How's Tony doing?”

 

“If you ask me that one more time Leroy Jethro Gibbs I will throw you out of this car.”

 

“He's never done this before, Ducky.”

 

“And you've done it four times and you are still behaving like a nervous prom date. Stop worrying – Abigail was only ringing to say that they were going to be five minutes early. Or, if you have to worry, at least do it quietly.”

 

There's three minutes of silence in the car.

 

“Did you make sure McGee has the rings?”

 

“ **Give me strength**!”

 

Two months, one week, two days

 

Tony is down in Autopsy, willing Jimmy to come back _right now_ before Ducky starts talking about Gibbs, sex, or sex with Gibbs. Tony considers it for a second, _Ducky and Gibbs?_ before fervently wishing he hadn't.

 

“..and _then_ , he asked me why not? To which I of course replied that the toad in question was not in fact Incilius alvarius and licking it would therefore not have the desired effect... Anthony, my boy, are you quite alright? You look a little pale around the gills, so to speak.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony attempts to shake himself out of his thoughts, “Sorry, Duck. Not enough sleep I guess” He winces internally, not because I was having gay sex with your best friend and my boss, no sir. Jesus, get a grip, DiNozzo.

 

“I did actually have something a little personal to speak to you about, if you don't mind.”

 

Ducky had the same skill as Gibbs, in that he was perfectly capable of making a question sound like a statement.

 

“Sure thing, Ducky, what can I do for you?”

 

“I'm aware that your personal life is none of my business, but, as much as he would wish otherwise, as his friend I do have a stake in Jethro's happiness, or contentment at least. I'm very pleased for you both, God knows Jethro has loved you for long enough, but if I had one piece of advice it would be to please bear in mind that he is a man of few words, and as such you would be better to look to his _actions_ rather than his words, if that makes any sense to you.”

 

Tony stares, not sure exactly how this conversation has spiralled so far out of his control so fast. _Gibbs loves him?_ It doesn't even seem like a remote possibility.

 

Ducky is looking at him kindly, as if he is aware of the effect of his words on Tony and wishes to give him a moment to collect himself.

 

Tony nods, clasps his hands together in his lap, and tries to think of something facetious to say.

 

“Sorry, my dear boy, one more thing, if you don't mind?”

 

“Sure” Oh gods, where was Jimmy?

 

“Please remember that I am the Chief Medical Examiner of NCIS and as such, if you were to hurt Jethro in any way, I am best placed to make sure that your death looks like an accident: a very unpleasant accident.”

 

Tony swallows, “I read you loud and clear, Ducky.”

 

“Excellent.” Ducky smiles as if he has not just threatened to kill him slowly and painfully, “If you see Mr Palmer please tell him he may return to Autopsy now.”

 

Six days

 

Gibbs presses the emergency stop on the elevator and pulls his Senior Agent into a deep kiss. Tony has been bouncing off the walls for nearly a week, calm and focused when they were alone and driving the team nuts when they were working. Gibbs had no clue what to do, so he'd settled for what he wanted to do. Tony is obviously very on board with his boss's plan, allowing himself to be backed into the nearest wall and inserting his thigh between Gibbs's in short order.

 

Gibbs pulls back after a minute, “better?”

 

Tony nods, slightly more out of breath than Gibbs, “Yeah boss. Gibbs.”

 

Gibbs studies him for a second before running his hands through Tony's hair where he'd messed it up and then hitting the button for the first floor.

 

Twenty years, eight months, three days

 

“Tony!”

 

“Jesus, Jethro – I'm right here. You're the deaf one, not me.”

 

“I'm not deaf, you just mumble.”

 

Tony looks at his husband in disbelief, “You know you sound like every cantankerous old man ever, right?”

 

Tony is saved from Gibb's ire by Rosie, their dog, arriving to see what the excitement is about. Her sense of smell isn't so good anymore, and she has a tendency to slobber when happy, but she's been with them since Gibbs retired 13 years ago, so she's forgiven for her foibles.

 

“Have you seen my stick?”

 

“What would I have done with your stick? Did you check by the front door?”

 

“No, Tony, I thought I'd ask you before checking in all the obvious places.” Gibbs's sarcasm has not mellowed over time.

 

They both look at Rosie, who wags her tail at the attention.

 

“Stay here,” Tony says to a still scowling Gibbs, “I'll check the yard.”

 

Sure enough their ancient, slightly lame dog had carried Gibbs's walking stick out back into the yard and deposited it behind her favorite tree. They still haven't worked out how she gets it through the back door.

 

“Got it”, he calls.

 

“You got it?” Gibbs calls back.

 

Tony rolls his eyes, whether at his husband who refuses to get a hearing test or at himself for continuing to indulge him after 18 plus years of marriage, he doesn't know.

 

“YES!” he yells back. Their poor neighbours.

 

They finally get the circus that is their daily walk on the road, and make their way through the park and follow a winding path that leads up via a small wood onto what is probably a man-made hill, but has a pretty good view nonetheless.

 

“You can bury me up here” Gibbs says, apropos of nothing, as far as Tony can see. Their age difference isn't something that comes up very often.

 

“You planning on dying soon, old man?” Tony asks, trying for levity.

 

“Nope, just reckon it'd be a nice spot.”

 

Tony tries to take that in with equilibrium, but gives up.

 

“I love you, you know.”

 

Gibbs turns to him and puts a hand round the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together in a familiar gesture of affection.

 

“Me too, Tony.”

 

He smiles at his husband and lets go, beginning to make his way down the hill, him and Rosie limping out of time with each other.

 

Tony watches them go.

 

“You coming?” Gibbs shouts up at him, too loud for the distance.

 

“On your six, Boss!” Tony yells back then again, quieter, “on your six.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing another (shorter) part, so please subscribe if you're interested. Thanks!


End file.
